Another hastily penned sunrise scoop inspired by my elderly snoring kitty cat whose reverberatory internal furnace sounds like the primordial hard drive of Jumpin' Jack Flash on the fritz, followed by one too many late night X-rated chatroom confabs with Whoopi Goldberg after some feverish digital demonstrations of that fine inflated cocoa cushion.
WOO girl. Some things to go sit in the corner and ponder:
A) What I wouldn't give for the above-mentioned image to delete itself from my own internal storage apparatus.
B) Why do I always feel the need to interpret the contents of tasteful period-piece morsels of cinematic dynamite like Jumpin' Jack Flash and form inappropriate connections between the spunky lead character and the enigmatic co-star? I did it now, I did it with Ghost, and I see no reason to stop when I get around to catching up with Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit. Although, if it's anything like the first Act, the movie itself will be the inappropriate connection, possessing the outrageous gumption of confusing my brains with unclear ecclesiastical messages of gyrating nuns commingling with cloak-donning capos. All the while, my own face will share the leading role with a sparkling slab of saliva as it makes its way down my chin, since I generally save that magical crown jewel of VHS antiquity for when I'm fresh out of mellow-tonin.
C) What I also wouldn't give for Pissy Galore to re-route her catnap locales to a more discreet quarter within our quantum kingdom. On second thought. . . the faint mellifluous wheezing is pretty endearing, even if I am in constant fear of mindlessly petting her angel-soft pelt only to ladle great gobs of hearty semi-digested cat stew into my paws.
Does this look like the face of a pygmy beast prepared to make accommodations?
Oh, for the love of feline friends! Gotta take the goobers with the, well, what do cats give back? oh yeah, bites, demands and neverending cleaning of the kitty litter....
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